Forever, More or Less
by LynstHolin
Summary: DRARRY Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are still a happily married couple on the one-hunderedth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.


Mild suggestiveness.

...

Harry looked up from his paper, a weeks-old copy of the _Prophet_. "How was it?"

"Amazing," Draco replied. He'd put on a pair of rubber flippers, performed a Bubble-Head Charm on himself, and had spent half an hour swimming in the lagoon among the coral and fish and anemones and urchins. It was a whole other world beneath the sea. "You've got to join me tomorrow."

Draco was running his fingers through his thick, white hair to help it dry faster. It had started thinning when he was in his thirties, but the Silver Dragon Hair Restoring Potion that he had patented in his fifties gave it all back and then some. Harry refused to use the potion; he said he was quite happy not having that old mop of his any more. Draco didn't care. Bald Harry was still Harry. Draco dropped a kiss on his husband's smooth pate before sitting down for breakfast. "Have some orange juice, babe." Harry poured a glass and pushed it toward Draco.

An owl swooped in through the open French doors and dropped a letter on their platter of toast and bacon. Draco and Harry looked at each other, both hesitant to open it. Dragon Pox was moving through the wizarding community again, and every piece of correspondence that came could potentially be carrying bad news. The last time the Pox had gone around, back in 2032, it had taken McGonagall, Flitwick, Xenophilius Lovegood, and Neville's grandmother. Harry and Draco were all too aware that this epidemic could take their contemporaries.

Harry and Draco were in no danger, themselves. The Centenarian Resort, which, as its name implied, was only for witches and wizards who had reached the age of one hundred years, had instituted stringent quarantine procedures as soon as the first case of Pox was reported. People had thought Harry and Draco were crazy, vacationing in the tropics for the entire summer, but they had their reasons. Being safe from the Pox was a bonus.

Harry let out his breath and picked up the letter, popping it open. He scanned it and grinned, his eyes crinkling nearly shut. "Teddy and Victoire are going to be grandparents again."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Harry and Draco had never had any children of their own, but they enjoyed the babies and grandbabies and great-grandbabies of their friends. "What else? Read it to me." Draco's eyes weren't what they used to be.

" 'The Centennial was spectacular. George really outdid himself this time. He recreated most of the Battle of Hogwarts with fireworks, and there wasn't a dry eye in the stands by the time of the grand finale. Honestly, Harry, I can't believe that YOU, of all people, skipped out on the Centennial. We wouldn't even have had a Centennial without you. Well, there's always the Sesquicentennial in fifty years, ha ha. Love, Teddy.' Sesquicentennial? I thought I was safe until the Bicentennial."

A t the fifty-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, the Semicentennial, Harry had done what everyone had wanted of him. He had been the Grand Marshall of the parade down Diagon Alley. He was made an honorary Hogwarts professor. He had posed for photos with little kids in fake glasses and drawn-on lightning-bolt scars, and attended balls, and laid the cornerstone of the Wizarding Museum, and spoken at a memorial service. He had hated every second of it. He'd had no desire to be in the spotlight, and it had brought up long-ago hurts. Draco had been by his side through it all, noticing that Harry had to drink to get through it. Even in his firewhiskey haze, Harry had noticed that many of the same people who fawned over him were less than welcoming to Draco; old resentments died hard. And so the two of them had vowed to never take part in any more 'ennials'.

The Centenarian Resort was perfect. The isand it was on was unplottable. It was so far from anywhere else that there was no WWN and no Floo Network. One could not Apparate or Portkey in. It was heavily warded, and one could only get there on a small cruise ship, the _Helga Hufflepuff_. Draco had loved the cruise ship. Between the salt air and the supply of Silver Dragon Forever Honeymoon Potion that Draco had brought along, he and Harry had gotten friskier than they had been in a couple of decades. Draco was sure that Harry getting a break from riding herd on twenty-something Aurors had helped, too. Harry's retirement had come not moment too soon.

At the resort, no one bothered Harry about his past. He and Draco were treated like any other guests. It was very relaxing. Draco also liked that there were no youngsters around, showing off their perfection in tiny bathing suits. Even by wizard standards, Draco looked good for one-hundred and eighteen, but he would have felt uncomfortable being shirtless around young people. If Draco could brew a potion that restored youth, he would be the first one to drink it, he had to admit. Age had made him wiser, but he still had his vanity.

A brochure came shooting through the door and Harry caught it. "Let's see what's happening this week. Mm, water aerobics. Ballroom dancing lessons. A lecture on the natural history of the island. A singles mixer on Thursday- hope springs eternal. Friday is casino night. Oh, and the Weird Sisters are playing Saturday night in the Coconut Lounge. Aren't most of them dead?"

"Made into vampires, actually. A tour in Romania gone pear-shaped. I want to do the ballroom dancing lessons. And not by myself."

"Of course you do," Harry sighed. He watched Draco eat his breakfast. "You keep looking at the bacon. You want the bacon. Eat the damn bacon."

"You know I gain weight easily these days. Do you want a fat husband?" Draco took a sip of his orange juice.

"It might be a fun change. I bet it would feel nice in bed."

Draco laughed. "Have you been into the Forever Honeymoon Potion already?" Harry held up his own glass of juice and smiled wickedly. "Why, you sneaky devil." Draco could feel an electric heat zizzing through his extremities; a sure sign that the potion was working. Pretty soon, things were going to start... looking up. "I was going to go to the 'Crafts With Seashells' class, but that could end up being embarrassing, now. I might frighten some of the ladies."

"Or cruelly get their hopes up."

"That settles it, then. We must get ourselves to the bedroom before we cause any mayhem."

"Why are you bringing the bacon with?"

"That's a surprise."

Owls came, owls went, and letters about the Centennial and how Harry should have been there piled up on the table, where they would later be gathered up by Draco and used to start a fire on the beach so that he and Harry could roast hotdogs. And Harry and Draco would take the ballroom dancing lessons together, and talk about staying on the island until the Sesquicentennial, the Bicentennial, the Sestercentennial, the Tercentennial. Forever, more or less.


End file.
